


a heavy heart to carry

by tulowhiskey



Series: spectrum. [3]
Category: Baseball RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Dom/sub Undertones, Implied/Referenced Cheating, M/M, Messy Life Shit, Toronto Blue Jays, mentions of family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-26
Updated: 2018-01-26
Packaged: 2019-03-09 17:26:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13486272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tulowhiskey/pseuds/tulowhiskey
Summary: troy's got the familiar sting of tears in his eyes again, and it's got little to do with funerals or failing marriages. there's a surge of everything coming to a boil, and he wants to lash out, to yell and fight and tear down the gates put up for their own safety straight to the ground.instead, he steels. "i'll manage."





	a heavy heart to carry

**Author's Note:**

> that awkward moment when you write a future fic and then trades happen and your stuff becomes nonsense. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> written in fall 2017, set in summer 2018.  
> chicago/oakland in late july, tampa in early september.
> 
> title from [heavy in your arms](https://youtu.be/0RwMMQMAIBo) by florence and the machine.

it's midsummer when troy's world comes to a screeching halt and everything starts moving in slow motion. he takes the leave designed to soften the terrible blow, days to grieve and comfort and remember.

and it's a kind gesture, but those days take him away from the few places he finds comfort. troy goes because he's supposed to, but he feels like he's drowning before the plane touches down in san jose. 

it's three days of distant relatives and churches and flowers and finger food. it's a sombre weekend, dark enough that no one questions the way his eyes well up when his son offers to share his last peanut butter cookie. they've always been his favourite. 

he's drifting again. this time he knows where to find his anchor, but he can't reach back, can't take hold. he tries to fight through, to tough it out - and he does try, desperately, with the feeling of finality surrounding everything about this trip. 

the team will be in oakland by sunday night, but those two days might break him. 

he asks if it's okay before he leaves, out of good manners and old habits. his mind is already set and he tries to explain - but his excuses are old, and somewhere along the way, they'd all turned sour. 

"if you go there, now, troy? don't come back." 

he should probably feel bad about the way he doesn't try to fight for her anymore. 

\- 

with every move he makes, rope burns deeper into his skin; his shoulders and thighs and wrists and hips all tightly bound. the pain is searing and he's breathless, and troy is awake and alive and firmly tethered to the ground. 

marco's hand strikes his flesh and he cries out, both the sting and the force of the impact rippling through him. the handprint will stay tender for days, and last as a shadow on his skin for even longer. 

everything hurts, and everything's perfect. 

\- 

"i think it's over." 

troy's head rests on marco's shoulder and legs drape across his lap. he's comfortable while marco's hands care for the rope burn marks left all over his thighs. he glances up, an eyebrow raised. "yeah?" 

"yeah." 

"how are you about that?" his words are careful, chosen deliberately to check in without pushing; to care without overstepping. there were boundaries. 

troy's got the familiar sting of tears in his eyes again, and it's got little to do with funerals or failing marriages. there's a surge of everything coming to a boil, and he wants to lash out, to yell and fight and tear down the gates put up for their own safety straight to the ground. instead, he steels. "i'll manage."

"you always do." marco smiles but there's a sadness there too, and troy wants to scream. 

he doesn't, but says nothing more and tries to ignore the sinking feeling in his chest, the feeling that he's on the wrong side of a crack that will soon widen into a canyon; that the ground he only finds with marco is turning on him, spreading under his feet and pushing them in opposite directions. 

-

red. it's troy's favourite colour, and standing at 3rd it's all he sees. 

they go way back, but evan doesn't know him that well anymore. evan doesn't know about his life, evan doesn't know what he's asking, evan doesn't know that troy's been a ticking time bomb for weeks. 

evan doesn't know what hit him when he's making small talk, catching up, and troy's fist meets his jaw. 

everything is red. 

== 

after the benches clear, after archer goes at troy and josh goes at archer and souza goes at josh, after a kevin on kevin stare down ensues - it's still chaos. 

ryan went straight for the instigator to calm things down, but troy is too much for even his master ego soothing skills right now. marco knows what he needs to do, but he doesn't feel good about it. here and now, it's not - even on a good day, this isn't what he wants their balance to be. 

it's been... different since chicago. they had rules, and if marco broke them, even with the noblest of intentions, he'd risk losing the little they had. of course he'd always been a shitty gambler, so it wasn't entirely surprising that it was slipping away anyway, despite his best efforts to play by the rules. 

it's been six weeks since they've touched beyond a high five or a hug in the handshake line, and marco feels uncomfortable as hell pressing a hand to the middle of troy's back and dropping his voice to that tone. 

"you need to chill," marco says, low and firm. and it's like a reflex, the way troy sinks into his touch and turns his eyes marco's way. 

but he's angry - and he's in a lot of pain. his eyes are flames and his soft mouth is twisted in rage, and he bristles at the touch once he is over the initial surprise. "fuck off, marco. get away from me."

"go down to the clubhouse. come on," marco says calmly, showing none of the guilt he feels for letting it get this bad. and - fuck, there's a lot of it. 

"no," troy snarls and pulls away, turning his body to get away from marco. 

"you want taz to see you like this? you know he's watching."

he doesn't mean for it to be unfair or a low blow, he just - marco knows him. better than anyone else does. and he knows how to make him listen, make him stop and think, make him realize what he's doing and make his own choice about it. and sure, marco knows how to control him - but, more importantly, he knows how to put troy in control of himself. 

"get the fuck away from me," troy hisses, this time at everyone trying to step in, pulling himself back and turning on his heel. he disappears down the tunnel, and marco is quick to follow. 

"i got it," he tells one of the trainers at the entrance. "give me a couple minutes." 

the clubhouse is silent when he reaches the doors. marco expected that, and expects the crash that comes from one of the training rooms a few moments later. when the door slams open, he's waiting on the opposite wall. 

"you can't fucking do that," troy growls, not surprised that marco is waiting there either, still pissed off and continuing their exchange from on the field. "you can’t fucking - make me do things. not here. not like that." he slams the door behind him and stomps off toward his lockers. 

marco ignores the rant, pushing off the wall to follow. he keeps a distance but - it's hard. he waits while troy throws his jersey, throws his hat, throws himself down to sit on the bottom shelf and lean against the wooden panel. his rage has nearly burned itself out and he's - exhausted. and hurting. and he needs so much, and marco has failed him. 

"can i?" marco has moved, standing next to the locker and reaching out tentatively. troy nods and marco's fingers brush over his cheek then circle to the back of his neck. he's soft as he pulls troy's head against his middle, hugging him close. 

"marco -" troy starts, then chokes up and cuts himself off. 

marco leans down, kissing the top of his head and staying there a moment. "i know. i got you... i'm here. i'm sorry i haven't been." 

troy stays quiet, but his arms wrap around marco's waist and his shoulders hunch and - everything he's been holding onto finally has somewhere to go. 

it's heavy, but marco is stronger than he looks. 

warm words and soft hands and easy kisses calm things, but troy isn't ready to let go. and that's okay. marco is ready to give him whatever he needs, whatever he asks for. troy's got his hands under marco's hoodie but wants more, and marco will easily oblige. 

he pulls the sweater off, then catches movement across the room. marco looks over to see ryan and marcus in the doorway and shakes his head. not now. a tilt towards the dugout silently tells them to scram, and to pass along the message to anyone else who wants to check in. get out of here. he's got this. 

he doesn't think about how long they were there, what they saw, until later. 

and it's a risk, but playing it safe hasn't really worked out. maybe it's time to just let go. 

= 

troy's never gotten high, but he imagines this is what it feels like. 

every part of him burns warm, every touch feels like an explosion of a hundred good sensations. when marco digs his teeth into his skin, troy thinks there could be light glowing from every mark. the room spins but it's not uncomfortable, and the whole world has shrunk to exactly the space marco takes up. 

he's happy. 

and when he comes down, marco is still there. he takes extra care this time, easing troy out of his euphoria and into a warm, calm place in his arms. 

marco checks in, like he always does, and - yeah, he's good. he hasn't quite regained his words, so troy turns his head instead and finds marco's mouth. he laughs, surprised - but he kisses back, and doesn't stop until troy does.


End file.
